They Can Talk!
by Ashlified
Summary: The inanimate objects of the O.C speak out! Totally random thoughts that plague my brain. Minor language.
1. Back of Marissa's Hand

A/N: This is so random. I will have an inanimate object from each character every so often. I am writing this as if the object is talking.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.  
  
**Part I: "The Back Of Marissa's Right Hand"**  
  
I've led a tough life.  
  
I've had so many hardships ever since I became a part of Marissa Cooper.  
  
When Marissa was five, she put me in the toilet because she thought "that's where the fishies lived." I plunged deep into the toilet, looking for the "sharkies" and the "goldfishies." Yup, she was a dumbass back then too. Nothing's changed really. She puts me in the worst freakin' places, I swear. She has no respect for the hand. She'll see though. I believe in Karma, all the way.  
  
When her mother would yell at her for wearing her hair the wrong way, I was there to wipe all the tears away. The bitch would always cry. Too straight, too curly, too this...I didn't know there were that many ways to do your hair. Wrong. One day, when she had it "too curly" she burned me on the god damned iron. Of course, I was holding her hair in place while she used the iron, and then ahhhh! She clipped me right on the hand. She started screaming, because of course, there is no skin to protect my bone. I'm surprised the skin didn't fall right off. I felt like I was melting into the depths of hell.  
  
Marissa eventually grew up and I was put into even dirtier places. No, not like that, so get your mind out of the gutter. We went to more and more parties and bam! My little friends above me,  
five fingers, were suddenly going down her throat. I, fortunately, only had to endure the opening of her mouth but ew. Do you know where Marissa's mouth has been? Didn't think so. All the vodka she drank the night would come up, along with the freakin food. It was disgusting, and no hand should have to go through anything like what I did. Luckily she washed me after that.  
  
Then came the booze. Marissa can't handle booze for shit, and every time it tastes bad or goes down the wrong way, I'm right there on her lips making sure it doesn't come back up. Damn it,  
just leave me be, dangling all the way down here. It's like, she thinks that if the vodka burns her throat or something, that I'm gonna stop all the pain! I can't stop it, you dumb bitch! I can't! I'm sick of being treated like some sort of guard, to stop all the alcohol from dripping out of your mouth! UGH!  
  
I've been held by a lot of people. For a few years, that jackass Luke hung onto me. Of course, he was found out to be hanging on others and so I never saw him again. And yeah, that led to the little incident in Tijuana. Oh my god, that was the worst night of my life. The girl would not stop.  
I kept going back up to her mouth, helping her drown pills with tequila. Then she had the nerve to plop down in an alley and get me all dirty. The nerve, I tell you. The nerve.  
  
Sorry, I go off on tangents sometimes. So then, I meet this Ryan guy. He has a nice, strong hand.  
Different from Luke's. Luke always had sweaty hands. Ryan's hand was soft. Never sweaty. I thought that maybe, just maybe, Marissa finally realized she should treat me better. Nope, Ryan left too. To go hold someone else's hand and someone else's baby!  
  
And the story begins all over again. The bitch just can't keep a guy for longer than a year. And ew, I even touched that guy Oliver's hand, and he was waving a gun at Marissa. I really just can't take it anymore.  
  
You probably didn't think the back of a hand, let alone a hand, had this much to say. Well, I did.  
And still do. This summer sucks.  
  
Thanks for listening. 


	2. Ryan's Lost Choker

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Shouts to Television Without Pity for coming up with things like BoD and HoT. It's used here.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Although if Ryan's choker were on eBay, I'd definitely buy it.  
  
**Part 2: Ryan's Lost Choker**  
  
Ryan Atwood is too good for me, now.  
  
Him and I - we've been through it all. He never took me off, no matter what. I've been in hot showers, cold showers, rain and even one or twice - a pool. Hell, I was even in a fire! I was there when he stole that car, and that was ultimately the death of me. Not right away though.  
  
I came to Newport with Ryan, along with the few other articles he pulled from the house of trash.  
The old mattresses were pissed, but I'm sure they're still laying out on that lawn. He kept his faith in me when we stayed at the Cohen's for a few days. I thought we were buddies. I thought he felt naked without me! Which I've also seen, but that's a story in itself.  
  
So yeah, the first two weeks were wonderful. The luxury! I got to go into showers that actually,  
you know, stayed hot. At the HoT, the showers would go from hot to cold and hot to cold because A.J wouldn't get his ass off the god damned recliner and pick up a phone. Whatever. I joined Ryan as he swam in the infinity pool.  
  
Then came Marissa. Marissa, Marissa, Marissa. You skinny little bitch. Ryan was supposed to go to cotillion with Anna Stern. Being a smart kid, he bows out. I'm thinking maybe it will be an easy night, watch Ryan play Sandy in some ninja games. Turns out - skinny ass didn't go either! So now Ryan and skinny ass can go together!  
  
So Marissa comes over and she's all like - "are you gonna wear that choker to Cotillion?" Come on now, Ryan, buddy. Say YES. Say it!  
  
"Oh, uh, this. Yeah. Nah. It was a dumb gift from Trey anyway."  
  
And with that, my life was shattered into a million pieces. He untied me, opened the closet, and shoved me into the dark confines of his backpack. The backpack of despair.  
  
And all because of Marissa. I'm not that angry, really.  
  
THAT FUCKING BITCH!  
  
She didnt' tell him to ditch the wristcuff, did she? Nooo. "Oh, don't take off the wristcuff."  
Why? What's so different, huh? Were you mad because I'm just as thin as you? You jealous bitch!  
  
Yeah, I'm not really all that angry. It comes in spurts.  
  
Life in the backpack of despair really isn't all that bad. It smells like old cigarettes, smoke and home. And that's where I wish we were right now, if it meant Ryan would wear me. 


End file.
